Japhet, in Search of a Father eBook

“Then how in the name of fortune do you expect
to find your father, when you will not take advantage
of such an opportunity of getting into society?
It is by getting possession of other people’s
secrets, that you will worm out your own.”

“But it is dishonest, Timothy.”

“A letter is addressed to you, in which you
have certain directions; you break the seal with confidence,
and you read what you find is possibly not for you;
but, depend upon it, Japhet, that a secret obtained
is one of the surest roads to promotion. Recollect
your position; cut off from the world, you have to
re-unite yourself with it, to recover your footing,
and create an interest. You have not those who
love you to help you—­you must not scruple
to obtain your object by fear.”

“That is a melancholy truth, Tim,” replied
I; “and I believe I must put my strict morality
in my pocket.”

“Do, sir, pray, until you can afford to be moral;
it’s a very expensive virtue that; a deficiency
of it made you an outcast from the world, you must
not scruple at a slight deficiency on your own part,
to regain your position.”

There was so much shrewdness, so much of the wisdom
of the serpent in the remarks of Timothy, that, added
to my ardent desire to discover my father, which since
my quitting the gipsy camp had returned upon me with
two-fold force, my scruples were overcome, and I resolved
that I would not lose such an opportunity. Still
I hesitated, and went up into my room, that I might
reflect upon what I should do. I went to bed,
revolving the matter in my mind, and turning over from
one position to the other, at one time deciding that
I would not take advantage of the mistake, at another
quite as resolved that I would not throw away such
an opening for the prosecution of my search; at last
I fell into an uneasy slumber, and had a strange dream.
I thought that I was standing upon an isolated rock,
with the waters raging around me; the tide was rising,
and at last the waves were roaring at my feet.
I was in a state of agony, and expected that, in a
short time, I should be swallowed up. The main
land was not far off, and I perceived well-dressed
people in crowds, who were enjoying themselves, feasting,
dancing, and laughing in merry peals. I held
out my hands—­I shouted to them—­they
saw, and heard me, but heeded me not. My horror
at being swept away by the tide was dreadful.
I shrieked as the water rose. At last I perceived
something unroll itself from the main land, and gradually
advancing to the inland, form a bridge by which I
could walk over and be saved. I was about to
hasten over, when “Private, and no thoroughfare,”
appeared at the end nearest me, in large letters of
fire. I started back with amazement, and would
not, dared not pass them. When all of a sudden,
a figure in white appeared by my side, and said to
me, pointing to the bridge, “Self-preservation
is the first law of nature.”